Conflict
by Trollmela
Summary: A political faction glorifying the First Age and elven superiority is about to disrupt trade negotiations between Rohan and Imladris just as Maglor arrives for an unannounced visit. Much to Arwen's relief, Maglor isn't one to stand by and watch. (Part of my "Lingering" series, in which Maedhros and Maglor survived.)


_It's been a (very long) while but perhaps I and the Lingering series have not been forgotten. Here is another installment in the series, set during some point of the Third Age. It's dedicated to my dear muse, friend and beta HaloFin17 who, naturally, also applied her careful eye to this story._

 _EDIT/UPDATE : Thanks to two observant readers on another archive I made two changes: one, this story is now set after Celebrían sailed. The __Meduseld of Edoras was not finished until TA 2569 while Celebrían sailed in TA 2510. I don't think it is likely for trade relations to have been established earlier. Two, Daeron and Maglor did in fact meet once, namely at the Mereth Aderthad, the "Feast of Reuniting" in FA 20/21._

* * *

Maglor liked to take his time riding into the valley of Imladris. It's colors, smells and sounds would envelope him and tell him that he was home. He relished in guiding his horse down the path towards the Last Homely House past dozens of water falls, taking in the sights as he passed and allowing his mind to calm after the necessary caution outside of the valley's magical barrier.

He slowed his horse when he reached the steps of Elrond's home, where Lindir was the only one to greet him. To an untrained eye, his expression would have been unreadable; Maglor, however, had known Lindir even as a child and he could tell that the musician felt uneasy.

"Lord Elrond is not here, I'm afraid. He traveled to Lothlórien and took his sons with him."

"Arwen is here then?"

"Yes, Prince Makalaurë."

"But too old by now to greet me?" Maglor quipped, handing the reins of his horse over to a stable hand.

"Not at all, your highness. But she is in a meeting and doesn't know of your arrival yet. Lord Elrond asked her to rule the valley in his absence."

"Surely not alone?" Maglor asked. Although Arwen was well old enough, she had never before ruled in her father's stead. Usually, that task fell to Erestor. "I assume Erestor is assisting her?"

"No, your highness. Lord Erestor went to Mithlond. His assistant, Lord Rivornor, supports her."

"Does he," Maglor repeated thoughtfully. "What kind of meeting is it?"

"Several horse traders of the Rohirrim are visiting. Usually they come later in the year, and Elrond would have been there, but this time they surprised us."

"And the meetings aren't going well?"

Lindir looked away. "They are."

Maglor didn't believe him, but instead of insisting, he took on the imperious tone of a prince of Valinor and said:

"If the meeting cannot be interrupted, I'll have a bath and wait for the Lady Arwen to be available." His smile was one of empty politeness and he would rather not have bestowed it on young Lindir, his former apprentice. Lindir appeared to be taken aback by his cool reaction.

* * *

By the time Maglor did see Arwen, she looked exhausted and almost angry. Quickly deciding that dinner in the Great Hall would be postponed, he ordered their food to be brought to a private room.

"Oh Daeradar!" She cried out in exasperation once the door was closed behind them.

"What's going on, Arwen?"

"That wretched old debate is breaking out again and right in front of the Rohirrim! It's making our talks difficult, and Rivornor is sabotaging them with his opinions!"

"What old debate?"

Arwen sighed, shook her head and dropped rather inelegantly into a chair.

"That elves should get more involved, be more powerful and so on because humans failed in the fight against darkness even before Isildur refused to return the One Ring to Mount Doom. You cannot believe how often I have heard the same three arguments in the last couple of days. And Rivornor, although he's supposed to help me, is instead leading that very faction. You can imagine how the Rohirrim are getting more and more insulted by that talk, which those elves don't even try to hide!" She sighed again.

Maglor frowned darkly.

"Then it will have to stop, and even if Erestor keeps Rivornor as his assistant, he will certainly no longer be your counselor during your father's absence! I will remain, and Glorfindel can and doubtlessly will enforce that order if that is necessary."

Arwen nodded gratefully, reaching out to squeeze Maglor's hand.

"Where is Glorfindel anyway?"

"On patrol in the Misty Mountains. He's due to come back in a few days."

Arwen was so tired that Maglor sent her off to retire. Although he himself was no less exhausted, the Rohirrim had to be taken care of, and if they were listening to political poison, which they doubtlessly would in order to report back to their king, then Maglor would have to stop it at the source.

He found the men and a whole group of elves in the Hall of Fire, where Rivornor, a dark-haired Noldor, was telling the story of Glaurung and his curse on Túrin and Niënor with a fire and relish entirely inappropriate for the tragedy that had occurred. Maglor stood unnoticed in the doorway, noting that the crowd attracted by Rivornor was young, born in the Third Age or at the very end of the Second, all of them older than Arwen, but none wiser.

Maglor turned away in disgust. He knew of the political stream currently running rampant in the elven realms which spread the idea that the elves had lost too much power since the First Age, which they considered to be the most glorious of all. As none of those who believed thus had actually seen the First Age, they were pursuing a glorified idea rather than reality. Maglor could see why the younger generations were frustrated that the older elves were so focused on returning to Valinor and seemed to be leaving Middle-earth entirely in the hands of mortals. They were too ignorant to know of Elrond's, Galadriel's and his own brother's efforts which would have proved them wrong. Those elves' work was subtle, but it would hopefully pay off in time.

Right next to the Hall of Fire was a smaller music room, and Maglor spied a range of instruments there. Picking up a harp, he checked the tune, and then began a stanza of the lay of Leithian. Many songs had been inspired by her story, but only one of note, and Maglor almost never played those of her latter life wearing the Silmaril on her brow. The song he played now had been composed by Daeron, the only bard said to be higher in skill than himself. He had tried once or twice to find him after the Sindar had left Doriath. On politics they would never have agreed, but as a musician Maglor could admit to admiring the Sindar, and they could have played well together. Still, Maglor had not played Daeron's songs during the First Age at all; only in the second, once the elf could truly be considered as lost forever, had he done more than silently study the notes and lyrics of his songs, aching to play and sing them.

He had left the door open, and, as he had expected, elves quickly appeared at the door to listen. An older elf, born in the Second Age, a librarian of Erestor's, was the first to enter completely and sit down without hesitation to listen. His long-suffering expression eased; Maglor knew the elf always looked like that, but perhaps it was a little more obvious these days, as he had without a doubt no patience for the troublesome youths. Other elves followed his example. Two men, blond and tall amongst their people, also came, as had been Maglor's intent. He finished the Sindarin version of the piece and then repeated it again in common tongue.

A few elves murmured not entirely quietly, possibly scandalized that Maglor sang of Leithian in the common tongue. Of course there were written translations of the lay of Leithian, but to Maglor's knowledge they were never played in any elven realm, not least because no translation had been written by a bard of adequate skill. This translation was his own work; even so, the rhythm of Daeron's song was altered, and he had had to take liberties to find words that worked adequately when sung.

The men relaxed, finding no renewed insult to their race, and when Maglor ended his play, the librarian was the first to loudly compliment him for the translation.

"That your playing and voice were flawless need not be said," the ellon finished his praise. "Thank you for allowing us to hear you tonight! I hope you will remain in the valley for some time, your highness?"

Maglor bowed his head in thanks and smiled at him pleasantly. "I will indeed remain, quite possibly until Lord Elrond returns." Turning to the men, he said: "I had heard that visitors from fair Rohan were here, and thought to give them a performance and welcome appropriate of Elrond's house."

"A welcome most appreciated," one of the horse-lords replied.

"Naturally," Rivornor said. Before he could add anything else, Maglor interrupted smoothly without appearing to do so:

"Rivornor, I would speak with you in private. Immediately. Unless, of course, you have some other obligation?" Maglor's razor-thin smile was without a doubt a leftover from his time within the thick of politics among squabbling relatives.

"Of course, your highness," Rivornor agreed.

They went to Elrond's study just because Maglor could. Elrond's chair behind the desk was far more comfortable than the chair in front of it, an effect the lord of Rivendell used to his advantage as well.

"I'm certain that as Erestor's replacement you have much to do in his absence. Since I'm here now and have some experience with trades, Arwen and I have agreed that I can take your place in the negotiations with the Rohirrim."

Rivornor looked dumbstruck. If he had known that Maglor was here, he might have expected such a move at a later time, but that Maglor would take over so quickly and unexpectedly took him aback. If he had had any further plans to disrupt the trade negotiations directly, they were now defunct. Although Maglor was not of Rivendell, he had enough experience and a relationship with Elrond which allowed such a move, especially with Arwen's support. After all, officially it was she who was in charge while Rivornor was only to assist her.

"Of course, your highness, if that is Lady Arwen's wish."

"It is," Maglor confirmed easily. He rose from Elrond's chair. "I don't think there's anything else to discuss right now, unless you have something?"

Rivornor shook his head. "No, your highness."

"Then I'll go introduce myself to the Rohirrim, if they haven't retired yet."

They had not, but they were no longer in the Hall of Fire or the adjoining music room. Maglor found them eventually outside, their heads together and speaking to one another in their language, which Maglor didn't understand.

In Rohan, the horse trade with foreign countries was under the direct supervision of the king. Rivornor's action could have dire consequences, namely that Rohan would not trade with Rivendell again. Why in Valar's name the adviser didn't heed those consequences, Maglor didn't know or care. Once Elrond returned, he would hear of all that had happened, and Erestor, too, and they would decide whether Rivornor could be allowed to keep his position.

"Good evening," Maglor greeted the men. "I'm Makalaurë Fëanorion, foster-father of Lord Elrond. I arrived just today, and Lady Arwen asked me to replace Lord Rivornor in the negotiations. I hope that this won't inconvenience you too much."

"Not at all, Lord Makalaurë," one man replied. "My name is Hildred, and this is Saewine. We would be pleased to continue negotiations with you." But even as he said it, Hildred looked tense and closed off.

Maglor suppressed a sigh. "Thank you. I hope that we will soon complete our talks successfully."

"That is also in our interests," Saewine agreed. But they would say nothing more, and thus Maglor bade them a good night.

Maglor's name was without a doubt known. Although he didn't think that Rivornor or his followers would have the audacity to bring up Maglor in particular in stories of the supposedly glorious days of the First Age, the Rohirrim might have recognized him despite the fact that he never introduced himself with his more commonly cited Sindarin name. If the Rohirrim now thought that Maglor came to prove to them his superiority, he would have to convince them of the opposite.

After his strenuous journey and arrival, Maglor sought time to meditate. Nelyo and he had their own guest house, constructed early in the valley's history for their privacy during a time when their presence had caused more ire than it did these days. A few magnificent view points were situated not far from that guest house, and a few more or less hidden caves as well where Maglor went to meditate.

By the time dawn broke, he felt much better rested and prepared for the negotiations ahead. Arwen was already waiting at his guest house with breakfast which they took together while Arwen explained to him what had been discussed so far. It turned out that the actual negotiations had not gone far. Elrond wanted to buy twenty-five horses, of which ten were to be studs. Elrond had a weakness for red duns and grays, but wouldn't exclude any colors. He wanted a mix of tall, sturdy horses for warriors and small ponies. Elrond had a breeding program of his own and wanted an influx of new blood in order to crossbreed the Rohirrim horses with the slighter built elvish horses.

Maglor had never been interested in breeding horses, but unfortunately the Rohirrim were unlikely to remain in the valley until Elrond returned, especially in light of recent events. Arwen had already spoken to the stable master, who was also in charge of the breeding program, and who knew what Elrond wanted to achieve with the trade.

In return, the Rohirrim asked for coins mostly, but also jewels and swords made to their specifications by elvish smiths. Especially the latter Rivornor had blocked, although Arwen didn't see the problem. Maglor had to agree with her. The Rohirrim were allies, and even should Rivornor manage to insult the traders enough that they left Imladris, it was unlikely to lead to war. At worst, Elrond would travel to Meduseld himself and apologize for their behavior, and in a hundred years the episode would hopefully have blown over and the humans involved would no longer live. But although the Rohirrim recorded most of their history through stories and little in writing, there was still a risk that a failed trade with the elves would be remembered for several generations.

Unfortunately, contrary to what he had hoped, the Rohirrim did not seem happy to hear that they could have their original offer.

"We are undecided at the moment and will need a few days to consider our position," Hildred said.

"I was informed that our current offer was what you had asked for."

"It was. But things have changed since then," Hildred insisted.

"Because of Lord Rivornor?" Maglor ventured. "We apologize if he insulted you. His opinions are not those of Lord Elrond or his children, and he rules here, not Lord Rivornor."

"We understand," Saewine picked up. "But the horse trade is a very important affair for Rohan with political impact."

Maglor clasped his hands in front of him on the table. "We appreciate that Rohan chooses its trade partners carefully. Imladris is Rohan's ally."

"That's what we hear here at the table. But we hear a different tune in your halls," Hildred said outright.

The bard suppressed a sigh.

"What assurances can we offer you besides our word?" Arwen spoke up.

"That is what we would like to discuss with each other before resuming negotiations," Saewine replied.

"Very well. Will two days be enough?" Arwen offered.

"Thank you, Lady Arwen. That suits us perfectly."

Maglor had to admire their ability to remain unimpressed by Arwen's beauty and light; even elves had a tendency to be drawn by it. The King of Rohan had chosen his representatives very well, whether he knew it or not.

* * *

Maglor thanked the Valar when Lord Glorfindel returned that night. As soon as he saw the large elven warrior on his white stallion followed by his warriors, he went down the stairs from his outlook to Elrond's house to welcome him. Glorfindel was surprised to see him, and even more so that the elf was already expecting him impatiently.

"Did something happen?" Glorfindel immediately asked. His hand was already wrapped around the hilt of his sword as if it could solve all problems.

"Rivornor is ruining the trade negotiations with Rohan!" Maglor replied bluntly. "I replaced him as soon as I arrived yesterday, but the damage has already been done: they are reconsidering their position."

Glorfindel's expression darkened. "Let me guess: humans are weak, and the elves should go back to the glorious ways of the First Age."

"You know already then."

"I know what he thinks. But so far I haven't shouted at him for it."

The way Glorfindel strode to the Hall of Fire, dirty and sweaty and determined, was glorious enough to warrant its own lay. At the door the golden warrior stopped, listening to what was said without any of the present elves noticing his presence. Maglor would have left him to it, but he was curious enough to follow Glorfindel, only to wish that he hadn't. Rivornor was speaking of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and the human turncoats who had betrayed Maedhros. Glorfindel lost patience very quickly, went right up to the elf and demanded:

"Have you forgotten, youngling, that it was the Noldor who foolishly alienated the Sindar and Silvan with whom we might have won the battle? And that Turgon, my former king, locked himself away in the mountains with his people, keeping them prisoner at the pain of death, while the other realms fell one by one? Do you forget, youngling, that it was not least thanks to Tuor, a man, that even just a few of Gondolin's people survived? You know nothing of the First Age! You would not wish it back if you had lived through it! I do not want to go back there, nor, I'm sure, would Prince Makalaurë! Unlike you, we lived through it!" Glaring at the assembly, Glorfindel added: "This has gone far enough! I cannot and will not forbid you your thoughts! But you pursue a false idea of the First Age as anyone who was there could tell you. Here are two who lived through it in front of you. Ask us if you have doubts!"

Maglor took up position next to Glorfindel, but of course nobody dared say a word. Until a voice finally asked:

"You are of that time?"

It was Saewine who was asking, curious and less reserved than his companion.

"Aye," Glorfindel nodded. "I was born in Valinor when the trees still lit the eternal night. I came to Ennor with the second group of the returned Noldor. I fought at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and retreated at my King's command. I fought when Gondolin was finally found by Morgoth after being betrayed by an elf. I died there. I dwelled in the Halls of Waiting, and then again in Valinor until the Valar asked me to return here." Looking from one elf in the assembly to the next, he added: "I was sent here to fight against Sauron together with our allies: Silvan, Sindar, dwarves and men. We must stand against Sauron together! And beyond that ultimate goal, we have much to learn from each other, and you should be intelligent enough to listen. My father told me that there is always something you can learn from another creature, no matter their station. Stop dwelling in the past and deal with the present!" He gave them another severe look. "I hope this topic is thus done with! You should be ashamed of yourselves, all of you, and you, Rivornor, in particular; Lord Elrond trusted you, yet you foolishly do your best to alienate our friends and allies with tales of falseness! For an ally Rohan is, and that she will hopefully remain!"

No one spoke.

"I need a bath," Glorfindel spit out crossly and walked off, nodding politely at the Rohirrim.

Maglor knew that Glorfindel wouldn't be keen to get involved in the negotiations despite his experience from Gondolin. Maglor wondered at it sometimes; at others, he understood the Vanya perfectly. As he walked back to his guest house in search of peace and quiet, he became aware of being followed and turned to face the man.

"The elves are divided," Hildred remarked.

"Are men always of the same opinion?" Maglor asked rhetorically.

"No. I suppose I had simply not expected it of you. My visit has shown me how little we know of elves. We know that you live forever, yet it still surprises us to meet one who has seen as many millennia as you and the warrior elf earlier."

"It is somewhat exceptional. There are not many of us left from the First Age."

"We must appear as children in your eyes."

"Children? I wouldn't say so. Men fight as fiercely for their freedom as we do. You are not children, nor do we think of you like that."

"But we lack your wisdom and experience."

Maglor grimaced. "What's wisdom? Yes, we have more time to become wise; it doesn't mean that all elves do become wise. Nor does it mean that men are never wise. I have found them to be braver than elves; our long memories can hinder us in taking action when we should."

Hildred looked thoughtful.

"May I offer you some tea at my guest house? I'm afraid it doesn't quite compare to Elrond's house, but there are rarely any disturbances. Then we might continue our conversation or even speak of something entirely different."

The man accepted his offer. Against his intentions, Maglor's thoughts lingered on the history of men and elves.

"It was my cousin, Finrod Felagund, who was the first to meet men in the First Age. He saw a group of them from afar and secretly watched them sing. Only once they fell asleep did he walk into their camp, sit there to guard them, and play a song on the harp of their leader." The man did not interrupt him, so Maglor continued, speaking of the House of Hador, from whom the Rohirrim were reportedly descendants. He drew on every thread of his memory to retell the stories he had not heard or spoken of for what felt like forever.

"You are a most accomplished story teller, Lord Makalaurë. If you were in Rohan, the people would flock to you from the Wold and beyond to hear of history so distant we do not recall it in our tales."

"I haven't been in Edoras in at least an age," Maglor mused. "I hear great tales of it and the Hornburg that stands strong against the mountains. Unfortunately, some men find elves disquieting outside of alliances of war and some trade. A pity, I say."

"Perhaps men would be less fearful of the elves if they visited more often." Hildred almost immediately shook his head. "But no, perhaps our kindred are too different."

Maglor's lips twisted in amusement. "We breathe the same air; we live upon the same earth; we even share most of the ingredients for our food." With an outright smirk he added: "I'm also very certain that we piss and shit the same way as well."

Hildred laughed out loud, surprised by the elf's crude language.

"Careful, Lord Makalaurë! Speak like that more often, and you will lose the shine of wisdom and eloquence we see in elves!"

They had a good laugh at that. Once it had passed, it almost seemed as if they had known each other for years.

"To be truthful," Hildred said with a serious expression, "there are some among my people, too, who would rather not trade with the elves. They are suspicious of you because your ways are so strange and your eyes see within us against our will."

"I suppose even in our politics we may not be so different," Maglor sighed. "I am no longer used to such schemes ever since my brother and I settled in the north. Our settlement grew to what is a village in most places, but almost a city in the north where there is little else. But we leave the ruling of men to their own leaders, and they have so far always acted wisely, while we deal with the few elven affairs that arise with only a dozen or so elven inhabitants. Our days of ruling are long over, and I am grateful for it."

It was now so dark that some candle light would probably be appreciated by the man. But when Maglor rose to light one or two, Hildred got up as well and bade him good night instead.

"You will find your way back to the House?" Maglor asked.

"I will, worry not, my Lord."

* * *

To Maglor's surprise, Saewine asked to resume negotiations the next morning at their convenience. Arwen, of course, was willing to continue as soon as possible, so they returned to their discussion after breakfast.

"We have decided to accept your offer under certain conditions," Saewine began.

"And what are those, Master Saewine?" Arwen asked, her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration.

"We ask that Lord Elrond or a representative of his visit Edoras next spring. We cannot go into details without our King's instructions, but an idea came to us to increase trade with the elves in another way: knowledge and skills. Lord Glorfindel himself said that we have much to learn from one another. Perhaps there is a way to formalize such an exchange."

Arwen glanced at Maglor only briefly before nodding her head.

"Those are terms I can agree with. Indeed, I look forward to seeing Rohan for myself."

Maglor agreed as well. A scribe would have to put them into writing, and then they would have to read and possibly amend the treaty in small ways. But the most difficult work was behind them.

"I think that calls for ale! I believe Elrond still has some in his private cellar that I'm not above pilfering!" Maglor announced to the men's great surprise and joy. He had a feeling that tonight wouldn't be the last night he helped himself to Elrond's liquor; after all, he still had a few weeks until his foster-son returned. Besides, he was still considering composing that lay for Glorfindel, an amusing one, perhaps; one that the elf would appreciate. He hummed to himself all the way to the cellar and back in search of a fitting melody.

* * *

 ** _Thank you for reading, reviews are very welcome._**

 _The next story in the Lingering series will likely not take as long; in fact, the first part is already written._


End file.
